


A Gift of Love (However Small)

by Xerxia



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Post-Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xerxia/pseuds/Xerxia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon compliant post-Mockingjay, pre-epilogue. The Mellarks celebrate the new-old holiday of Valentine’s Day with a special little gift</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gift of Love (However Small)

It’s the warmest February in District 12 that anyone can remember. Even Sae, who has spent more than 75 winters on the planet and who has a remarkable memory, tells me she’s never seen anything like this.  
  
“There’s a fair wind blowin’. Change is comin’, Katniss, I can feel it in my bones,” she says. We’re drinking tea on Sae’s porch, in shirtsleeves despite spring being more than a month away. The lawns all around Victor’s Village are already turning green, and a group of children play tag, shrieking joyfully under a low grey sky. 

  
“I don’t know about change,” I say distractedly, “But there’s definitely rain coming.” Sae chortles behind me, but my eyes are locked on my target, walking through the village gates. Even after 15 years he still makes my stomach quiver. As I watch, he sets down the bags he’s carrying and joins the children. Peeta isn’t as quick or agile as the little ones, but he’s strong and fit, and his laughter floats across the green as he runs, a little blond moppet in hot pursuit.  
  
The district kids all love Peeta. And not just because he keeps a tin of shortbread bites behind the bakery counter, though that’s certainly part of it. He always makes time for them; he runs a Saturday morning art program at the community centre and he proudly displays the artwork the children gift to him in the bakery and in our home. He’s boundlessly patient with their stories and their games. And they seek him out when they’re troubled because he listens, in ways that their own parents sometimes can’t. He’s an honourary uncle, or big brother, to virtually every child in the district.  
  
Which is all the more remarkable when you remember that he barely had a childhood himself.  
  
Sae continues talking but honestly I’m not listening. My eyes remain riveted on the man across the green from us, my husband. He glances up, as if he feels my gaze, and smiles, and for a moment we are the only two people in the world.  
  
Then he’s tackled by a little red-headed boy and they both go down in a heap of sprawled limbs and giggles.  
  
“You’re gonna need to tell him soon, girl.” Sae’s voice breaks through my reverie and I startle, turning to her with a confused expression. She smirks, her grey Seam eyes, now clouded with cataracts, regard me with amusement. Nearly blind, she can still somehow see everything.  
  
“How did you know?” My monthly is only a couple of weeks late, I haven’t even taken a test yet; the white box is hidden in my drawer but I’ve been too afraid to use it. She laughs.  
  
“Seen a lot of women with child in my life, Katniss. You’ve got that glow.” She looks over my shoulder, at where Peeta now seems to be playing goalie in some sort of kickball game. “Only reason he hasn’t picked up on it is ‘cause he’s so busy with the season.” She’s right about that, in the years since the end of the war, in what we now call the new Panem age, a lot of celebrations from before the Dark Days have come back into vogue. Tomorrow is ‘Valentine’s Day’, which is a day to celebrate love. Not surprising, it’s one of Peeta’s favourites.  
  
Somehow people in District 12 have come to celebrate Valentine’s Day not with paper cards or flowers like in the stories of days gone by, but mostly with sweets and cakes and elaborately decorated cookies. Which means everyone wants something special from the Mellark bakery.  
  
Peeta’s been working from well before dawn until past dinner every day for weeks. Even today, Sunday, when the bakery is closed, he still went in to work a few hours this morning. I would have joined him, but this morning I was just too exhausted to get up. That in itself should have been a red flag to him, but he’s been so preoccupied.  
  
“I just wanted to be sure, before I said anything,” I admit. “I don’t want to get his hopes up.” Peeta has wanted children for years, though he’s never pressured me.  In the beginning of our marriage we were both reluctant to even think about bringing children into the world, both still so fragile and traumatized from the war and the games, and both still learning how to be partners, lovers, spouses for real. But as the years have flown by, as Panem has remained stable and, most importantly, as our marriage has thrived and our love has strengthened and bloomed, well, the idea of children started to be a little less scary.  
  
Our friends had families of their own, and we watched with joy and delight as those children grew, happy and well fed, no tesserae, no Reaping.  
  
Peeta got there first. Seems like he’s always waiting for me to catch up. But slowly the idea of a baby, of a little boy with Peeta’s downy curls, or a little girl with his gentle blue eyes, rooted in my heart, and I knew. The dream I’d had all those years ago, in the Quell, about a world where Peeta’s children could be safe… that world was here.    
  
So we started talking about babies, first in the abstract ‘what if’ way, and then in the ‘do we want to do this’ way.  
  
He was there, holding my hand, when the doctor removed my contraceptive implant 9 months ago.  
  
We’d been warned that it would take months, maybe even years, for the lingering effects to dissipate. And we knew that, with everything our bodies had been through, there was a possibility that it might never happen. Yet I was still crushed each month I didn’t get pregnant.  
  
But Peeta was stalwart, even as I saw the light in his eyes dim a little each time.  
  
After a few months we agreed to just stop worrying about it, to stop even thinking about it. That if it happened, it happened and if it didn’t, that would be okay too, as long as we had each other.  
  
And of course, when we finally did manage to push it out of our minds… looks like that’s when it happened.  
  
"And what if it did turn out you weren’t carrying,” Sae interrupts my thoughts to ask. “You’d be upset; I can hear it in your voice. Do you really think you could keep that from him, Katniss? Do you really think you should?” I shake my head, and she smiles at me, warm and comforting though she’s lost most of her teeth.  
  
Sae has been a mother figure to me for a long time; she’s cared for me at my absolute lowest and stood beside me in good and bad. She’s the one who wove flowers through my hair on my toasting day. So when she dispenses advice I try to listen.    
  
“I’m scared, Sae.” My confession is barely whispered, but she nods.  
  
“As you should be.” I scowl at her and she laughs. “All mamas are afraid when they’re with child, Katniss. It’s the way of things. Always has been.”  
  
Sae stifles whatever else she might have said as Peeta ambles up the steps, flushed and smiling. “Good morning, Sae,” he says as he leans in to kiss her weathered cheek before turning to me.  
  
“Are you feeling better?” he asks me softly, leaning down to press his lips to my forehead and I nod, smiling. “I was worried about you.” Of course he noticed; even exhausted and overwhelmed he’d never ignore me. Beside us Sae clears her throat.  
  
“You two should skedaddle now,” she says. “Don’t be wastin’ a glorious day like today with an old woman like me.” I swear she winks at me but Peeta doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
“Sae,” he admonishes, but with a hint of amusement in his voice.  “I can’t think of a better way to pass the time than in the company of my two favourite people.”  
  
“Always the flatterer,” she laughs. Sae has been like a mother to Peeta too, and she’s never made any secret of how fond she is of him. Not that I blame her, Peeta is an incorrigible flirt, at least with Sae. That he continually brings her treats from the bakery helps too.  
  
“Will you have lunch with us?” I ask as I rise from my chair and collect our teacups, but Sae is waving me off before I even finish.  
  
“You two go on now, Lila’ll be along any time.” Lila is Sae’s orphaned granddaughter, the only family Sae has left. She’s 21 now and works at the restaurant in town but still lives with Sae.  
  
Peeta offers his arm to Sae and walks her into the house; I follow with our cups. Before we leave Peeta pulls a loaf of Sae’s favourite molasses bread from his bag and deposits it on her kitchen counter.  
  
We walk home together, hand in hand as Peeta tells me all about his morning in the bakery, the toasting cake he finally finished for a Valentine’s wedding, the special heart-shaped cookies he painstakingly decorated to drop off at the school tomorrow morning. He’s so happy. Even in the most challenging of times he’s a beacon of positivity. I couldn’t have gotten to this point without him, couldn’t ever have considered bringing a new little person into the world without his hope and his light.  
  
“What?” he laughs and I realize I’ve been staring at him. We’re already inside our home, I must have completely zoned out. I can feel the prickle of heat climbing up my cheeks.  
  
“Nothing,” I mumble, but I can’t keep the smile from my face. He laughs again and wraps his arms around me, after so many years together we hardly need words. “Are you hungry?” I murmur into his chest, loving the feeling of the solid wall of muscle that engulfs me. He winds his hand in my hair and tilts my head back so that I’m staring up into those blue eyes that shine with amusement. And heat.  
  
“Starving,” he says, and I know he’s not talking about food. He leans down to kiss me, just softly, but the touch of his lips ignites a fire low in my belly. My fingers twine in the soft cotton of his shirt, and I tilt my head, encouraging him to kiss me more deeply. He takes the hint and our tongues begin a dance we’ve perfected, but one I’ll never tire of. I can’t resist worrying his perfect lower lip with my teeth. The way I know he loves.  
  
He moans, pressing me against the wall, his hips thrusting against mine. Teasing me, just enough friction to have me squirming. “Peeta, please,” I beg against his lips, but it only encourages him to tease me more.  
  
I try to free my hands, but he knows me too well and at my first wiggle has both of my wrists pinned above my head in one of his huge hands, his thigh pressed firmly between my legs. I rock shamelessly against him as his free hand sneaks under my shirt, pinching and rolling my nipple through the thin cotton of my bra.  
  
It’s only been a couple of days since we last made love but I’m wound up tight as a drum. And the way Peeta is thrusting against my hip tells me he’s just as eager as I am. I lean in to suck on the pulse that leaps in his throat. His soft moans send vibrations through my tongue.  
  
When I whimper in his ear that I need him he grunts, and before I even realize it he’s hoisted me into his arms and is heading for the stairs.  
  
He tosses me on the bed like a sack of flour and I laugh as I bounce Across the mattress. Peeta crawls over me before I even come to a complete stop. "You are so beautiful,“ he murmurs, pushing up my shirt and trailing kisses along my abdomen. I hold my breath, suddenly certain that he can tell, but then he moves higher, his soft lips closing over my nipple. And I sigh.

Lovemaking with Peeta is always incredible.

As much as I love it when he worships my body slowly, bringing me to the brink over and over, panting words of love and devotion in my ear, what I need now is to have him hard and fast. When I tell him so he groans as if in pain.

I push him onto his back and strip away his clothes in a rush. He’s so hot and hard and heavy in my hand when I grip him, I can’t resist taking him in my mouth.  The way his hands tangle in my hair and his hips buck uncontrollably is such a turn on and I moan around his cock, prompting a litany of filthy words to fall from his tongue.

I love it when dirty talking Peeta makes an appearance.

He pulls out of my mouth with a groan and guides me up his body. His fingers explore my folds, I’m absolutely dripping and it makes him grunt with satisfaction. I can’t wait any longer, sweeping his hand away and sinking onto his rigid shaft in one smooth move.

15 years and I swear every time is better than the last.

It takes a few moments to adjust to him, he’s so big and hard, I feel so full. Then I start to ride him. Not slowly or teasingly, not building up intensity gradually. No, I ride him hard, grinding my clit against his public bone with every rotation of my hips, taking my pleasure from him. He stares up at me with hooded eyes, mouth open, his hands on my hips guiding my frenzied motions. I’m climbing, climbing, and then with a shout I’m plunging back to earth, free falling into bliss. He stills and bites his lip as I pulse around him, finally flopping forward onto his chest as the waves crest.

Peeta gives me only a moment to recover before he’s flipping me over. He’s so much more measured than I was, filling me over and over with long, sure strokes. It doesn’t take long before I’m climbing again. When he leans back on his knees to thrust harder, faster, I snake my hand down to my clit, rubbing tight circles against the little button. Peeta’s agonized groan when he notices pushes me over the edge again and he follows quickly behind, shouting my name and a string of curse words. Then he collapses on top of me, his solid body making me feel safe and secure.

  
We lay quietly for some time; though it’s only early afternoon the rain has started and the room is quite dim. I’m flat on my back, all of my muscles slack, Peeta’s curled beside me, running a finger along the swell of my breast over and over, a faintly confused expression on his face. "Did I tell you that I got a valentine today,” he asks, and I raise an eyebrow.  He chuckles. “An old fashioned paper one, handmade for me by the lovely Miss Hammond.” I grin; 'Miss Hammond’ is about six years old, with pigtails and the cutest lisp. She’s quite smitten with Peeta, as is he with her.  
  
“Might be the only one I get this year.” His eyes twinkle; he loves to tease me. He knows I’m pretty terrible with the romantic stuff. I mean, I don’t bake, I don’t draw, and while rabbit skins are lovely, they don’t really scream 'romance’.  
  
“The big day isn’t until tomorrow,” I remind him.  
  
“I’m only teasing, love,” he says softly, and I melt. Those blue eyes that have captivated me since I was barely older than little Miss Hammond are filled with adoration. I take a deep breath, it’s time.  
  
“Well, I might have a little valentine for you, but I’m not sure,” I tell him, and his brows wrinkle in confusion. Sitting up, I pull the pregnancy test I purchased several days ago out of the drawer.  

  
It takes a moment for him to understand what he’s looking at, then his eyes widen. "Are you?“ he breathes.  
  
"I’m not sure. My monthly is late though.” I can almost see the wheels turning in Peeta’s head as he tries to remember the last time. “Will you find out with me?”  
  
He’s got the package torn open before I finish asking, reading the enclosed sheet carefully. I take care of the peeing part alone because even after 15 years there are still some things I can’t bring myself to do in front of him, then I sit next to him in our bed, both of us still naked, while we wait the requisite two minutes.  
  
It’s crazy how long two minutes can feel when your dreams are hanging in the balance. Long enough for a hundred bad scenarios to run through my head.  
  
When the timer sounds Peeta turns to me expectantly, but I’m frozen, afraid to walk back to the bathroom to see what it says. What if it’s negative? What if it’s positive? "Katniss?“ he questions.  
  
He looks as nervous as I feel. I stand and hold out my hand to him. "Together,” I tell him, and hand in hand we walk to the small ensuite.  
  
The little white stick is now decorated with two pink lines.  
  
Peeta is absolutely silent, staring at the unassuming stick as if it held the answers to all of life’s mysteries. "Is it… Are we…“ he stammers. Our eyes meet, a shell-shocked collision of grey and blue. "We’re going to be parents, real or not real?” he asks, and a little half laugh half sob escapes me.  
  
“Real, Peeta.” And then I’m laughing. “Real! You’re going to be a daddy!” He smiles then, more radiant than the sun.  
  
“We’re having a baby!” he yells, spinning me around in the tight confines of the bathroom. Then he’s dragging me back to bed, kissing me as we stagger, laughing and crying.

Once I’m seated on the bed he kneels in front of my, caressing my still flat stomach, pressing wet kisses where our baby rests, between laughs that bubble up from deep inside.

We make love again, slowly this time, sharing promises in the dim of our room while the rain patters against the window. And then we sneak downstairs, me wrapped in a sheet, him gloriously naked, to curl up in front of the fireplace and eat the cheese buns he brought home from the bakery.

He can’t keep his hands off my belly, though there’s nothing to see yet. “Thank you,” he breathes in my ear. “This is the best valentine ever.” It’s tempting to make fun of him, especially when he’s grinning at me so goofily, but I haven’t the heart to do so. Instead I kiss him softly.

“Yes it is,” I tell him. And together we start to plan our next big adventure, the one that’ll be here in 7 months or so, while we watch the fire crackle and burn.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N(s): The title comes from a cross-stitch sampler that hangs in a relative’s house, which reads “A gift of love however small, is what I cherish most of all”
> 
> My entry for the @fyeah-everlark Love Games challenge on Tumblr. Takes place in my You’ll Be in my Heart universe.


End file.
